Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy or a functional nose. Life is so difficult.

A/N: I don't always have a specific song in mind for what Draco's playing, but sometimes I do. So I decided to start sharing that with you guys.

The first piece Draco's playing here is Lizst's La Campanella (Harry really doesn't know much about classical music).

In other news, Hank Green just made a neat video on synesthesia, if anyone wants to know more about it. watch?v=vEqmNX8uKlA

Colour blind

Part 5

The very day after Harry's, er, conversation with Draco, he headed up to the eighth floor corridor with a skip in his step and invisibility cloak at hand. Although Draco had sort of kind of given his consent with his "whatever," Harry still got the vibe that he really didn't want him there. So he'd decided that at first, he'd go in his invisibility cloak like he'd said he could, since Draco kept saying he didn't want to see Harry. Maybe this'd appease him somewhat, and then after a while Draco would be alright with Harry going to listen/watch without the need for the cloak. Harry was feeling almost giddy with the hope of it.

Draco was already there, playing another Beethoven by the sound of it… something dark, at least. Harry was very careful as he slowly opened the door just wide enough to slip through. Tip-toeing and crouching a bit so that the cloak would cover him, he made his way over to his typical seat in the pews. Slowly, he felt himself relaxing, despite the fact that it wasn't really all that relaxing a piece. Draco's adroit fingers jumped across the keys, hitting them at a brutal pace. A thousand colours unfurled before Harry's eyes, painting a landscape of cool darks and angry brown-reds…

When Draco removed his hands from the piano, the last resounding note hanging in the air, Harry felt the absurd urge to applaud. But that was a stupid idea, because then Draco would know he was there and he couldn't have that…

"I know you're there, Potter."

Oh. Well bugger. At least he didn't sound horrendously angry. More… resigned. Harry pulled off the cloak.

"Er, hi?"

"Why'd you wear your cloak again? I thought I told you not to."

"Er…" Harry wracked his brain for the transcript of their conversation that he'd tried to memorize. "No, I don't think you did… Yeah, I offered to wear my cloak and you said something about me being, er, presumptuous or something, but you didn't say anything about the cloak so I just assumed that it'd be better for me to wear it, at least at first, because then you could still pretend that I'm not there and just play like you usually do and ignore me but I'll still be able to listen and… yeah…" He trailed off when it occurred to him that he was rambling and probably looked like an idiot.

"Well don't. Wear it, I mean. If you're going to eavesdrop I'd rather be able to see you. It's unsettling, otherwise. Well, more unsettling than it has to be."

"Alright, I won't wear it. I'll just sit here, then, if that's alright?" Draco just stared at him. "Er, right. Don't mind me." He waved his hand a little, as if to say, go on.

For a moment Draco just gazed at him, his expression one of vague distaste. Then he slowly turned back to the piano, glanced once more at Harry, and began to play again. At first the notes sounded reserved, hesitant, but it was clear that he quickly got absorbed in the music and forgot about Harry completely. Which was perfectly fine with Harry; he was content to watch Draco's fingers jump around, barely touching the keys before being off on the next cadence.

"Today, as I'm sure you are all aware of, is the exam covering Manticores, Chimeras, and the abscindo curse," said Sanguini the next day. It was Monday, and the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom once more resembled a classroom—desks were arranged in neat rows with fidgeting students sitting two to a table. Harry was next to Ron, with Hermione at the desk to his right. He turned around and quickly scanned the room, identifying Draco towards the back, looking put out as usual. He turned back to face the front with a small smile on his face.

"There's no cause for anxiety; since you were all such experts at the curse, this test should be quite simple."

Of course, this pronouncement caused a wave of fearful murmurings amongst the students. Sanguini coughed into his hand and they fell silent.

"You have one hour, and I'm confident that you'll all be able to finish in the allotted time. Begin."

Frightfully thick scrolls appeared on their desks and there was a general flurry as everyone rushed to begin the first question. After which, the only sound that could be heard was the scratching of quills and the occasional cough from their professor. Harry wondered vaguely if he was trying to distract them—it wouldn't really surprise him—before he shook his head and tried to concentrate.

"Buggering Merlin that test was impossible!" cried Ron later as they walked to History of Magic.

"Ron! Language!" said Hermione. "Oh dear, I think I messed up on problem thirty four. Was it 1743 or 1437? I thought it was 1743 but was that when Malcom Merrington first identified the chimera or…"

"Harry, mate, I bet you thought it was a piece of pie, right? Since you killed the manticore so easily and all."

"I don't know…" said Harry, shifting his bag. "I think missing that week might not have been a good thing after all."

"I told you you should have come anyway," said Hermione. And she had. Twenty times.

Harry shrugged. It'd been nice having an extra free period for a week. He'd even finished his Transfiguration essay before Hermione, and the look on her face when she saw was probably worth the bad score on his test.

That evening, after dinner, Harry went up to the music wing. He left his invisibility cloak in Gryffindor Tower.

Draco was playing something dark again, dark and fast. Harry wondered what it said about his mood. In all the time that he'd been coming to listen, he had yet to hear a cheerful song. The only thing that came anywhere close was the berceuse that he'd heard the first time. But even that was more of a melancholy, bitter-sweet happiness. It put a funny taste in his mouth, thinking about all of this. What would it take for Draco to play a Mozart, instead of Beethoven?

And he didn't even want to think about the fact that Draco hadn't sung anything since Harry'd started listening without the cloak.

Throughout the first and second pieces, Draco never looked at Harry. He was fully absorbed in the piano, and Harry was fully absorbed in watching Draco play. It was, as always, mesmerising, and the music and colours resonated in his bones long after the last note was hit.

When Draco spoke, it was such a surprise that Harry jumped and hit his knee on the pew in front of him.

"How did you do it?" he asked.

For a moment, Harry could only stare at him. Was this… this was Draco initiating a conversation. Harry hadn't done anything at all but sit unobtrusively, and Draco had begun talking, talking to him… something seemed to tickle inside his chest.

"Huh?" he said. Of course, the first thing that came out of his mouth was oh so articulate. "Um, er, what?"

"How did you do it?" Draco repeated. There was something bitter in his voice… but what else was new? He was speaking to Harry.

"Do what?" Harry was still feeling bewildered by the sole fact that Draco was talking to him. Also, he had no idea what he was talking about.

"Kill it. Kill the Manticore. How did you?"

"I, er, well. I don't know."

That earned him a narrowing of eyes.

"No, really, I don't. I mean, it was talking and… and I just got really angry, you know? And then I cast the curse, and it just worked."

Draco shook his head. "That's not possible. You're only eighteen, and that was the second time you'd even tried the spell."

"Yeah, well, I guess I was just really angry. I just wanted it to shut up."

"No, no, that's not enough," said Draco. He picked up the strip of velvet from the top of the piano and carefully laid it over the keys. "A Manticore is a level five magical creature. A level five. I don't care how angry you were, there's no way you could have—it shouldn't have died just like that."

"Maybe I'm just good at battling dark creatures, did you think of that?" Harry felt a bit defensive, and the fluttery feeling settled down in the pit of his stomach. It was obviously possible; he'd done it. So why was Draco so disbelieving?

"Potter. A level five. Even the most powerful, most experienced wizards have difficulty killing level five creatures. It must have been severely weakened beforehand…"

"Uh, I did kill a basilisk. When I was twelve. What's a basilisk classified as?"

Draco ran his hands over the velvet, smoothing it out even though there weren't any wrinkles to begin with.

"Five," mumbled Draco. "But that was sheer dumb luck, and wasn't it blinded before you had to deal with it? Like I said, weakened. Did you use another spell on the manticore beforehand? A potion, maybe?"

"No! How could I have; that was the first time I saw it, same as everyone else."

Harry stared at Draco, something slimy rising in his throat. Draco ignored him, smoothing his thumbs over the glassy surface of the lid before putting it down.

"Why is it so hard to believe that I could actually kill it, with my own power? In case you somehow missed it, I did also kill Voldemort last year. Oh, that's right, you were too busy running away to be there!"

"Why was I evacuating?" Draco turned to face Harry then, sudden. "Oh yeah, it's because I didn't have my wand to fight with; you'd stolen it. I seem to recall that it was my wand that you used to kill him! What, couldn't rely on your own? Did it decide it didn't like having such an incompetent idiot as a master?"

"It broke, you—"

"Right, your mudblood girlfriend snapped it in half. Did she forget what it was? Thought it was just another twig, did she?"

Silence followed Draco's harsh remark. Harry was suddenly glad that several pews and meters separated them. For the first time in over a year, he had the urge to punch the scowl off of Draco's smarmy face. Or get out his wand and practice his hexing skills, whichever one was more effective in shutting him up. The feeling was so strangely alien, yet incredibly familiar—built up over seven years of mutual hatred—that it completely threw Harry.

"I… I've got class," he said, even though he rather thought that there was still fifteen minutes before he had to leave for Herbology.

Draco just glared at him as he hastily slung his bag over his shoulder and strode out the door, forcing himself to look ahead and not glance back towards the piano.

Harry walked up the bajillion flights of steps to Gryffindor tower, completely composed and not at all fazed by his argument with Draco—no, Malfoy, the prat. He most certainly wasn't stomping, no that would have indicated that he'd been fazed, and he most certainly had not been. At all. Not in the least. Harry quarrelled with Malfoy all the time, it was practically rote, why on earth should he single this time out by being fazed by it? The answer was, obviously, that he shouldn't. And he wasn't. At all. Not in the least.

Merlin, why were there so many stairs? Who the hell had designed this castle? Harry wracked his brain, trying to find any scrap of information that he might have remembered from seven years of History of Magic lessons, or, at the very least, lectures from Hermione quoted from Hogwarts, a History. Surely he'd remember something. Nope, not even a bit; nothing was forthcoming.

Well, whoever it was, they were rather daft in Harry's esteemed opinion. Honestly, who designs a dormitory in a tower? Actually, two dormitories, Harry amended as he remembered the Ravenclaw tower. Or in the dungeons. Who knew where the Hufflepuff common room was, but Harry was sure it would be in another horribly impractical place. And then, on top of that, whose great idea was it to make the stairs move? It made getting up to Gryffindor a thousand times harder than it needed to be.

It was also what had started this whole sordid business in the first place. Bloody Malfoy.

He said the password nice and politely, really; the fat lady had no right to be so indignant.

"My, someone has their knickers in a twist," she huffed as she swung open to admit him. Harry ignored her.

Ron and Hermione were sitting on the couch in front of the fire. No, wait, they were sitting on an armchair by the fire. One that Harry was pretty sure had been designed with a single person capacity. Never mind that it could fit a rather large single person, like Uncle Vernon for example. It was the principle of the thing that counted.

They were staring at each other in a disgustingly soppy manner. Harry felt like throwing up all over them.

"Hello," Harry said sharply.

It looked as if they were surfacing from the depths of something unpleasant, like love. Love soup, or something. Eurgh.

"Oh Hello, Harry," said Hermione.

"Hullo," said Ron. He turned to look at him, which was apparently quite a difficult feat. Harry wondered who'd glued Ron's eyes to Hermione as his friend gave him an once-over. "Man, what crawled up your arse and died?"

Harry scowled at him.

"Ron!" chided Hermione, smacking him lovingly.

"Malfoy," said Harry in answer to Ron's question. "Well, not literally. That would be… odd."

Ron snorted.

"Malfoy?" questioned Hermione. "Not Draco? Oh my, what on earth happened?"

"He's an insufferable prat, that's what happened."

"Glad to see you've finally seen the light."

"Oh, hush, Ronald. Harry, what happened? Did you argue?"

"Yeah, and he was being a stupid git." Harry paced in front of the fire, the indignation roiling inside of him spurring him to keep moving. "I was just sitting there, and everything was going fine, and then he started talking to me out of the blue…"

"He started talking to you? Was he insulting you?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Isn't that a good thing? I would have thought you'd be happy if he initiated conversation."

"Well, yes, I was happy. At first. But he was asking how I killed the manticore, and I told him I didn't know, and then he started getting mad and stuff, saying it was impossible, for no reason! I mean, obviously it was possible, I did it, didn't I? But he just kept going on about how I couldn't have done it; I wasn't powerful enough and stuff…"

Ron and Hermione listened to him rant for a couple more minutes. Well, Hermione listened attentively. Ron was staring into space, probably contemplating the life and times of dust motes or something equally fascinating.

When Harry had run out of steam, for now, Hermione looked to be struggling with something.

"Um, I'm sorry to say this, but Draco's kind of right."

"What?"

Hermione winced at Harry's outraged tone. And she was right to! Why on earth was she taking Malfoy's side on this?

"Actually, I've been wondering the same thing. It's not that I don't think you're a powerful wizard," she said quickly, as if Harry needed to be appeased.

"I'm not—I don't think I'm a powerful wizard!" said Harry, just now realizing how bratty he must have sounded, complaining about how Draco didn't think he was powerful enough. "That's not the point!"

"But," Hermione continued, ignoring Harry's outburst for the moment. "Successfully performing the abscindo curse on your second try is incredibly improbable, even for you."

"I keep telling everyone, I was really, really angry! Doesn't that make any difference?"

"Of course it does, but even being furious isn't enough. There's a reason why a manticore is classified as an xxxxx dark creature, Harry, and there's a reason why Professor Sanguini didn't think any of us had a chance of killing it."

"But I did! I don't understand why you guys are even debating it!"

"I know you did, Harry. That's why I haven't brought it up; I'm just saying that Draco had a very valid question."

Harry felt like grinding his teeth at her coddling tone. He turned to Ron. Surely his best friend would stand by him on this front, at least. But Ron was studiously not looking at him; apparently he was on Hermione's side.

"Ron! Don't you think they're being ridiculous? What is there even to debate! I killed it!"

"I'm totally with you, mate," said Ron, rubbing his neck. "But I don't think it's that big of a deal, is it? I mean, who cares if Malfoy's being a prat? He's probably just jealous; I just don't think it's anything to get upset over."

"Exactly," said Hermione, smiling at Ron in a besmitten way. "It's curious that you were able to kill it, but I'm sure Ron's right in that Draco's just jealous."

"That's stupid," said Harry. "There's nothing to be jealous of."

"Oh come on," said Ron. "I know that it's tough for you, but it doesn't look that way from the outside. To everyone else you really do look great, with your exciting life and your talent at defence and everything. I didn't think I'd ever say this, and if you ever mention it again I'll have to AK you, but I can sort of relate. You did kill that manticore awfully easily, while the rest of us were struggling to get it to react at all."

"I know that. I get that people think it'd be great to be me," said Harry, thinking of fourth year, "but it's still frustrating. And I thought…" He thought Draco would understand, at least partially, some of what it was like. He wasn't one of the general populous who only heard about the war and Harry Potter's great heroics through the prophet. For some reason he found himself feeling disappointed. "I thought he might have wanted to talk to me for another reason, not just to spout off his insecurities," Harry finished rather lamely.

"Oh Harry," said Hermione. "But he let you listen in to him play, right? And he did initiate conversation, even if it devolved into an argument in the end. That's at least something, right?"

"Yeah… Look, I think I'm just going to head up to bed. See you guys in the morning."

Harry turned around as Ron and Hermione bid him goodnight. He didn't want to see what was sure to be displayed on Hermione's face, in her eyes.

Harry knew what she thought: that Harry was desperate for every bit of attention Draco would give him, that he worshiped Draco like the sun shined out of his arse and that Harry's every mood depended on tiny actions on Draco's part. Okay, maybe not that extreme, but basically that he was a pathetic, thirteen-year-old girl.

And Harry had to walk away from that, from seeing Hermione radiate that opinion, otherwise he may very well have snapped at her. Because it was patently not true.

Sure, he rather liked to look at Draco, and sure, it made him happy when he got to talk to Draco, but it wasn't as if he were in love or anything. No, really. He honest to god hadn't gone blind overnight; the lack of colour in his vision didn't mean that he couldn't see that Draco was and always will be a colossal prat. Harry was gay, and he thought Draco looked quite pretty in a pointy, colourless sort of way. Harry was also the saviour of the wizarding world. He'd been fighting his entire life because certain people had very firm opinions about certain other people, and basically thought they were better, superior.

Draco Malfoy was a Slytherin, and a rather reluctant used-to-be Death Eater.

Harry liked to think that Draco had changed in the war; after all he'd seen and done. And Harry liked to think that he himself had changed as well, that he was now, not better, per say, but at least somewhat above the previous generation of hidebound wizards. He knew that he'd been quite close-minded before, but hopefully he was changing, growing. Hopefully he was taking Sirius's words to heart.

The world isn't split into good people and death eaters…

Of course, Sirius had said it rather flippantly, and he was talking about Umbridge at the time, but Harry thought that perhaps it worked the other way too…

Draco didn't mean so much to him because of inane teenage hormones, although that did play a part. But it was more than that, and so it made Harry so irritated when people brushed it off. And that's why he'd thought it had been sort of a big deal, to quote Ron, because Draco was being so… so… so petty. And then there was that sense of disappointment again.

"I'm sorry about last night," Harry said the next morning at breakfast.

"Oh Harry," said Hermione. Harry concentrated on the whorls of green in pink that slowly revolved before his eyes instead of her tone of voice. "There's nothing to apologize for."

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, I did make a big deal about it, and it's really not that important. I shouldn't have whinged so much."

"It's okay," she said, and put her hand on his. "Really, I get it."

Harry looked up from their hands and met her eyes. What he saw in them surprised him. It wasn't the pity he was expecting, but rather a simple kindness and understanding.

"I know how much you hate it when people are jealous. And I get that he's burning every bridge you try to build. I can see how much you're trying, for all of us. And he's trying too, just give him some time."

Harry felt like he may have underestimated Hermione.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and meant it more this time.

"It's alright," was Hermione's reply, and she was smiling that kind smile again. In that moment, Harry really saw what Ron liked about her. He'd been wondering, since it obviously wasn't the know-it-all-ness. Now, it was clear to him. Harry wasn't the only one who'd matured through the war.

He smiled. "Thanks."

She nodded and turned to chat with Neville. "Now about the bimble root, do its corroding properties come from the stamen or…"

Harry was going to get a headache again, if this kept up.

They were in the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom, and Sanguini had yet to arrive. Since the last class had been a test, they'd be starting something new today, and what they could possibly learn next was a subject of avid speculation. Students were coming up with all kinds of bizarre ideas in little groups, and just that much chattering would be difficult on Harry's eyes, but of course the general din had escalated exponentially, as it generally does, when the time to start class had come and passed with no sign of their teacher.

So there were people speculating on their new unit, and people speculating on what happened to Sanguini, and then there were people like Hermione.

"Oh goodness do you think he'll give us back our tests today?" she was saying. Somewhat frantically, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "I do hope so, but you can never really tell with teachers. Although he does seems like the type who would grade quickly… but then again I could also see him as the more lazy type who gives back your tests at the end of term when he has to. If he does give them back to us, do you think he'll hand them out at the beginning of class or at the end? Oh I do hope he's not one of those professors who think that we'll be distracted all class by the test if they give it to us at first. Don't they see that we'll be more distracted with worry if they don't?" She went to tuck her hair behind her ear again, only to find that it was already tucked. "Will he tell us the average score? Do you think he'll write our grades on the top of the page or will we have to add up all of the corrections to see what we got? I rather think that Professor Sanguini would be the type to—"

Just then, to Harry's great relief, Sanguini walked into the room.

"I apologize for my tardiness," he said quietly. They had no trouble hearing him; the room had fallen silent upon his arrival. "I was playing a rather vigorous game of hanky panky with my dear Poppy, and I'm afraid I lost all track of the time."

Harry couldn't tell how much of that statement was true, but even if it was a complete lie the image of the pallid Sanguini and Madame Pomfrey doing anything remotely intimate was horribly burned into his retina. It appeared that even Hermione had forgotten about the tests in the light of that horrifying scene.

"In any case, today we will be beginning to study a new spell, as I'm sure you all, in your vast intellect, have already gathered. Does anyone know what it is I'll be introducing today?" Harry could almost hear the crickets in the background. "Ah, yes, I'm positively tickled pink at the amount of seer talent evident in this room. Well, I'll just tell you all. For the next two weeks, we'll be studying the Patronus charm in great depth."

Hermione's arm flew into the air. Sanguini stared at her, and she hesitantly lowered it as she began to speak. "But, sir, isn't the patronus charm, well, a charm? Why aren't we learning it from Professor Flitwick?"

"Astute observation, Hermione. Why yes, as a matter of fact, the patronus charm does happen to fall into the charms category. A couple years back, however, it was deemed too advanced for Hogwarts students, and was removed from the curriculum entirely. It has been made clear, however, that it is not too advanced by any means." He coughed and looked pointedly at Harry. "Since the charms curriculum has already been set, I offered to teach the Patronus charm since it is a form of defence against the dark arts.

"Now I know for a fact that no one in this class has any idea what a patronus even is, so would anyone like to tell me?"

Hermione, quite predictably, threw her hand into the air. It was, again quite predictably, ignored. Whatever else he was, Sanguini was a fair teacher and preferred some sort of diversity in student participation. Harry was pleased to see that Neville's hand was also raised and quite steadily high as well. Sanguini called on him.

"A Patronus is sort of like a positive force that protects against Dementors, sir."

"Correct. I don't suppose anyone would like to elaborate," sighed Sanguini. "Ah surprise surprise. Yes, alright, Hermione?"

"There are two forms of Patronus, sir, non-corporeal and corporeal. A non-corporeal Patronus looks like smoke or vapour, and while it's effective at halting Dementors it doesn't work to repel them and is considered a lesser version of the charm. The corporeal Patronus takes the form of an animal that reflects the personality of the caster, much like an animagus, and is very effective in protecting the caster and forcing Dementors to flee. The incantation is Expecto Patronum, and in order to successfully cast it the caster must concentrate on a powerfully happy memory, because the Patronus is comprised of positive feelings, thus rendering it immune to…

Harry picked at his desk. Someone had carved MANNY X DAVID into the wood. The varnish was chipping off around the edges, and Harry idly wondered who Manny and David were. Probably Hufflepuffs.

"Very good; Hermione just gave a very thorough explanation of the Patronus charm," said Sanguini. Hermione looked horrified. "You all seem to be focusing on the Dementor aspect of the charm, but there is more to it than that. A Patronus is also the only thing that will defend against a Lethifold, and there is another use for Patronuses, invented by Albus Dumbledore, which is perhaps the most practical use. If one is competent enough, it is possible to use Patronuses as a method of communication. This is a very secure method, as a Patronus cannot be blocked by physical or magical barriers, and unlike an owl it cannot be tracked. The only detriment is that each person's Patronus is unique, thus making it quickly identifiable.

"Now I've been informed that a few of you can already perform the Patronus charm, so this is what the schedule for the next two weeks is going to look like. Today we will work on practicing the charm, and those of you who know it can assist those who don't. For the next week, your homework will be to practice it in your own time, as this is a very individual-oriented piece of magic and the amount of practice you require will vary from person to person. On Friday we will see how far each of you have gotten, and then the week after that will be more practice if you need it. Once you've mastered the corporeal Patronus, your homework will be to write an essay on your Patronus' animal form and what it reflects about your personality. This essay will be due next Friday, and should be at least two feet long.

"While you work on your Patronuses outside of class, in class we will focus on learning about Dementors and Lethifolds.

"Now for the next ten minutes, try to think of the happiest memory you have. At the end of this time, we'll begin practice."

Harry slouched in his chair and blew at his fringe, trying to make it fly up out of his eyes. He glanced at Ron who was doodling in his textbook. Harry tilted his head and leaned over slightly to get a look at what he was drawing. It appeared to be a rather horrible rendition of Sanguini. Harry smiled a little bit when he saw that it closely resembled the scribble of Snape Ron did in first year, only this one had fangs. Ron looked up and caught Harry's eye, then grinned, quite obviously saying, isn't this great? The next two weeks are gunna be a walk in a park! Harry nodded, returning his grin, and then turned to see Hermione's reaction.

She appeared to be somewhat distraught. She was looking from him to Sanguini, and Harry could predict what she would say as soon as the ten minutes were up and it would be considered acceptable to talk. Can you believe this? We're not going to learn anything new for two weeks! Oh dear, two weeks wasted! Do you think Sanguini will give me extra work if I ask him to?

Harry ducked his head to hide his smile.

He managed to waste three minutes discreetly carving a star into the desk before he couldn't ignore the little urge any more. Slowly, he turned around and tried to eye Draco through his fringe.

As per usual, Draco had seated himself near the back corner. His eyes were closed, but not scrunched, yet Harry could tell he was deep in concentration because his eyebrows were slightly furrowed. As Harry watched, his mouth pursed and the pencil line between his eyebrows became more pronounced. Draco ducked his head down slowly, his white hair fell forward, and his shoulders tensed a bit. Harry wondered what he was thinking of. Surely Draco, with his spoiled childhood, would be able to find a happy memory easily?

When the ten minutes was finally up, Harry sighed in relief and got out of his chair, stretching. Ten minutes wasn't all that long, but it seemed like forever with nothing to do.

For the rest of the class period, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville walked around and gave tips to the other students and answered any questions. It was a bit nostalgic, and Harry felt a brief pang of remorse as he thought about the DA. He shook his head and corrected someone's wand arm. Things were different now. Harry casually glanced back to where Draco was flicking his wand and incanting, and having no luck whatsoever. He was putting the inflection on the wrong part of the word, and his wand movement was too stilted.

Harry wandered over, staring at his destination the whole time. As he got closer, Draco glanced up and caught his eye. He scowled and glared fiercely, his defensive stance clearly hissing, shove off! Harry blinked. Well, alright then, if Draco wanted to be as prickly as a cactus then let him. Harry turned around and meandered back the other direction. Maybe some other, less stupidly hostile Slytherin would let him help.

The rest of the week passed… rather slowly actually. Slughorn was focusing on Polyjuice for the next month and without new classwork from two of their classes, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves with a lot of free time. Hermione, of course, was distraught and spent the time studying excessively for her other subjects. By Wednesday she'd finished her essay for Sanguini and had run to Slughorn begging for an extra potion to study. Ron spent his time lounging around and playing exploding snap, or flipping through Quidditch magazines, or sneaking to the kitchen to get snacks, much to the chagrin of Hermione.

Harry, at first, was excited. He thought more free time would mean more time spent on the eighth floor with Draco. But Draco only came once a day, if that, and he always gave off the impression of an angered porcupine, so Harry didn't try to talk to him at all. This left Harry with a stupid amount of nothing to do, and he still made his way to the auditorium every free period he shared with Draco because he didn't know when Draco would show up. This meant a great deal of sitting in the pews, staring at the closed piano, and feeling dissatisfied and restless by the lack of music. He hadn't realized how much he'd grown to depend on those moments of colourful reprieve until it was made scarce. Sure, he'd gotten pretty much used to the jumble of colours and shapes that followed him around in the crowded halls, but without Draco's piano putting them in order every couple periods they began to look more and more like chaos and more often than not, Harry fell into bed at night with a dull headache.

He took to bringing Quidditch Through the Ages and sitting in the little courtyard on the eighth floor. When Draco came, he would walk past the garden without glancing at Harry, but Harry could see him through the stone arches and would follow him into the music room where Draco would play for a while and Harry would listen, letting the waves of colour sooth his headache and boredom.

Draco never talked to him.

A/N: I'm trying to decide what Draco's Patronus should be. If anyone has any strong opinions about it, or just general ideas, I'd love to hear them! Otherwise, I'll probably do a ton of research and then end up picking my favourite animal. :]